


A Warm Staff in Cold Hands

by thirdchairjunior



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, F/M, It's not super important but just so you know, Light Angst, Robin has brown skin, this was meant to be for stahlweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:29:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29670057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdchairjunior/pseuds/thirdchairjunior
Summary: “With this staff, I could protect you more than I ever could with a sword. I could heal your wounds, I could save you from death on and off the battlefield. Any time you’re hurt I could be there for you. No matter what would happen, you’d be okay. But it’s just one more thing I’m mediocre at.”Or, Stahl becomes a War Monk and insecurities begin to bubble to the surface.
Relationships: My Unit | Reflet | Robin/Sort | Stahl
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	A Warm Staff in Cold Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a piece for the prompt "Class Change" for stahlweek, but because I am super self-conscious about my writing and slow to start a fic, it's coming many weeks later. Also, Stahl definitely has anxiety, you cannot convince me any other way.

Stahl took a deep breath, attempting to focus on the warmth of the staff in his hands, the hum of the magic on the breeze drifting through the air and trees into the weapons tent. On the power that could be felt from the tips of his ears down to his heels. The Shepherds had made it a rule to not waste staves - they were a valuable resource that were expensive to come by- on smaller injuries that could be healed with little time or on wild animals. But he needed to get better, so he asked Nowi to let him borrow their little birdie friend, Janaff, to practice on.

Janaff’s injuries were finally getting better, but it still appeared to be painful to properly move his wings, so there was still some work Stahl could potentially do. He sighed, feeling the hum quiet, the sensation of magic subsiding from his body. That was his tenth attempt of the afternoon to channel some sort of power. Success eluded him. His stomach began to churn, the beginning stabs of sharp pangs signaling the rise in his anxiety.  _ Deep breaths, Stahl. Just like Panne taught you. _

That was probably as good a sign as any to stop his training for the meantime. Another day, another seemingly fruitless attempt to heal something as small as an injured bird. Maybe later that evening he could consult with Lissa and Maribelle again, ask for tips, healer to healer. Stahl was continuously having a difficult time tapping into his potential power, the thrum of his crude, wooden staff always too quiet. 

It had been only a little more than two moons since Stahl exchanged his viridian armor for a set of flowing, verdant robes, draping his frame in such a way that it hid most of the shape of his body, his insecurities hidden behind modest clothing. A war monk. The axe had been the easy part, as years of wielding a sword and lance had given him muscles that still shocked and impressed many of his comrades who oft thought him overly dull and average. Healing magic was something else entirely. 

The magic of healing was everywhere if you knew how to tap into it, inherent in everybody who allowed its blessing to fill their heart and soul. Magic, however, was a fickle mistress: difficult to study and even more difficult to wield. Extremely basic magic like sparking a flame with one’s finger was easy enough, child’s play: a typical, common parlor trick many children ran around showing off. But more difficult spells like teleportation, mending, and weapon restoration were reserved for the most patient of scholars and religious acolytes. And though Stahl was loath to call himself a good student, poring over academic texts with Maribelle, shadowing Lissa on the battlefield and aiding Libra in camp had been invaluable experiences towards his understanding and practice of the healing arts. 

The most he had ever been able to accomplish was putting his patient at ease. 

_ You’re doing great! It’s good to be able to ease someone’s pain, to calm them so it’s easier to heal them. Just keep practicing! _

Lissa’s words echoed in his ears, a kind message, though it taunted him. He should have expected to struggle, but he had fooled himself into thinking he had a solid grasp of the craft, especially since he could add on his years of knowledge as the son of an apothecary. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t truly a man of the cloth, or even that big a follower of Naga. Stahl was sure she existed, yet he never explored faith outside of an acknowledgement of the divine powers at work in the universe. However, he had an inkling at what his true problem was. A word that was on the lips of everyone he crossed:

_ Average.  _

Stahl let out a dejected sigh, cold air rushing past his lips. Perched on his hand, Janaff began to preen his feathers as he was placed back into the makeshift birdcage he and Nowi built. The bird hopped around for a bit, chirped one, two, three notes before it settled down, head receding into a chest of feathers. Wing still unhealed. Stahl felt his chest tightening, his throat constricting. He was generally good at keeping his anxiety at bay, even with his bouts of self-pitying, but he was overwhelmed.

_ Did it matter what work he did? Would he ever even get good enough to heal a damn bird’s wing? Would he even amount to anything? Was he strong enough? Did it matter, did it matter, did it- _

He stood still, eyes clenched shut, taking deep breaths out of his nose until he was able to push the thoughts from his mind. There wasn’t time for his low self-esteem to catch up with him. The churning of his stomach had begun to settle when he heard the snap of the tent covers being pushed aside, someone walking inside. 

“I thought you might be in here. The dining tent was a bit too quiet,” Robin snorted, flipping her hood down behind her shoulders, pleased by her own joke. The resident tactician sauntered in, white hair sticky against her dark forehead. She brushed some sweat from her brow, grimacing at the amount of perspiration that collected on the back of her hand. 

Robin’s carefree entrance cleared the air somewhat, broke him from his spell at the least. Stahl exhaled, forcing a cheerful smile, trying to relax his muscles.

“Honey! Er, I mean, Robin. I know how you feel about pet names.”

“Only when it’s in front of our friends. How’s your training? I heard you changed to a war monk?” She was squinting at him now, studying his face. Or maybe the sudden change in light was still catching up to her eyes. Then, her eyes darted to his robes, lingering a bit too long. 

“It’s great! Lissa has been a great help. Maribelle, too,” Stahl chirped, wincing at the squeak in his voice, nervousness and embarrassment clear in his cadence. If Robin noticed, she didn’t say anything; she was busy inspecting the wooden staff in his hands. 

“Staff is quite different from a sword. Axe too.”

“Yeah, it’s strange having to adjust to the weight. I’m surprised Libra can swing that Killer Axe around so easily.”

“Those robes hide a lot,” she whispered, chewing the inside of her cheek, eyes once again drifting across the landscape of robes on his body. 

“R-robin! There’s nothing that special under here.”

“Says you.”

“Robin.”

“Just saying.” Robin was so cheeky when she wanted to be. He was glad for it. She gave him a distraction from the turbulence beating in his heart. 

“But, I have to say I’m jealous, Stahl. You’re so good at many things. Learning axe  _ and  _ staff? I’d say that’s impressive.” 

_ Gods.  _ Stahl’s breath hitched, instinctually his mind readied to deflect any praise and humble himself.  _ He had just started to breath again, too.  _ His tongue darted out to swipe across his bottom lip, his right hand started to clench up. Praise never sat well with him. 

Robin narrowed her eyes, worry dimming her eyes. “Are you OK?”

“Hmm? Uh, yeah, I’m fine.”

“You’re tense. You keep curling your hands. You only do that when you’re stressed.”

“No, really, I’m fi-”

  
  


“Stahl, you’re lying.”

“I….” He bit his lip and swallowed unsaid words. Stahl had generally tried avoiding being an open book, concealing his real feelings behind tiny white lies and buttery smiles. But of course she had begun to know his tells. 

“What’s wrong?” The warmth in Robin’s tone made him shiver.

“Robin, a sword and lance wasn’t helping me. Helping you, helping Chrom. Anyone.”

“What is that supposed to mean? You were a strong cavalier, you probably saved his ass like 100 times!”

“That’s not...what I mean is...well...A sword and a shield can only get you so far. I can throw myself into the fray, I can cut down enemies and keep them from harming others. But then, what if I’m  _ not  _ there. What if someone gets hurt and I’m powerless to help them? What if you...what if you get injured? Even if I can cut down the enemy, you’re still hurt and I-I...I can’t let that happen Robin I can’t-!” 

He gulped for air, releasing his clenched palms: his nails had burned angry, red marks into his palm. Robin waited for him to continue, her brown eyes patient. He loved those eyes. 

“With this staff, I could protect you more than I ever could with a sword. I could heal your wounds, I could save you from death on and off the battlefield. Any time you’re hurt I could be there for you. No matter what would happen, you’d be okay. But it’s just one more thing I’m mediocre at.” He let out a pathetic chuckle, sparsely different from a sob. “I want to be as good at protecting you as you are at saving me every battle.”

Beads of salty tears spilled from his eyelashes, splashed down into the dirt, and soon a steady rainfall followed, poured from his face. Stahl hated crying in front of others.  _ He  _ was supposed to be the rock, the person who held everyone together, prevented conflict between friends. He swallowed his bitterness. Truly, he was as self-sacrificial as everyone uttered to him. 

Robin sifted through her robes to procure a lilac handkerchief and pressed it to his cheeks, catching some of his tears. He sniffed, not only embarrassed at his outburst, but at how  _ messy  _ and vulnerable he probably looked, much different from the easy smile he constantly wore. 

“Wait here.”

Stahl watched as her ponytails disappeared to the right out the tent, being momentarily blinded by the sharp sunlight that flashed the dim tent. Robin ran back in with a long, oblong bundle wrapped in white cloth snuggled under her right arm. Breath coming out in heavy puffs.

She coughed, shoving the object towards his chest. “Cordelia helped me make it since, well, she’s apparently good at everything.” Robin pinched a bit of the cloth between her fingers, rubbing it sheepishly, though a proud smile rested on her lips. “Here.” She held out the object for Stahl to take.

Stahl glanced down at the bundle, then looked back up at Robin as if to reaffirm that this was  _ indeed  _ for him. With a small nod from Robin, he hesitantly began to unwrap the white sheet, breath caught in his throat. An ivory staff, long and slender, ending with a spherical emerald gem adorned with a golden crescent reminiscent of the rising sun. Two long green ribbons flowed from attachment. His throat was dry, too many emotions vying to escape his throat. He looked to Robin with furrowed brows. 

“I don’t deserve this.”

Robin, silently, grabbed him, her smaller hands guided him to a standing position. She was smaller than him- the contrast was stark- but she always had more conviction, the strength to move anyone. 

“Stahl. You deserve everything.” 

His body was limp when Robin pulled him down by his collar and ran her thumb over his lips, pausing a second before gingerly laying her lips upon his. His eyes fluttered, pulse racing, pumping like the flap of a pegasus’s wing. There’s a scar just below his left ear that she was careful to avoid, skirting around the rough patch of skin to grip his neck and draw him ever closer. She’s rough, unapologetic in how much she loved him. 

Robin drew back, gently coaxing him back, and tenderly placed the staff in his upturned palm, the tips of her fingers grazing over his own before settling back on the stool, right wrist displayed towards him.

“And you can start protecting me by healing this cut on my arm.” Stahl’s eyes drifted downwards towards a small, angry red cut on the back of Robin’s hand he hadn’t noticed until now. “Don’t worry,” she laughed, “I got this from peeling potatoes with Lon’qu.”

His lips curled slightly, a brief smile stretching his face. He could do this. Robin was here and he could do this. He took a deep breath, tightening his grip around the rod of the staff, and held it towards Robin’s injured hand. He would protect her. He  _ needed  _ to protect her. 

Slowly, the staff brightened, his hands murmuring with the heat of power. Afraid the light would dim, fade away and stay gone, he squeezed his eyes shut again, tighter and tighter till no light could infiltrate. He could feel the humming creep from his hands up to his shoulders, to his neck, down his spine. 

“Stahl….”

Had a minute passed? Five? Ten? He felt his hands shaking, the staff rattling between his fingers. The thrum of magic had dissipated. 

“Stahl.” 

His eyes inched open. The cut was gone. 

Grasping for each other, their hands entwined and they embraced again, Stahl less hesitant to the aggressiveness in which his lover expressed her love. He hummed against her, heating up, gasping at the feel of Robin’s hands slipping underneath the front of his robes, fingertips roaming seemingly aimlessly. But just as quickly, she backed away, eyes flitting to the loose flaps of the tent, wary of the increased noise of foot traffic outside. 

“Your hand….” Stahl runs his fingers over where the scar had healed, the skin nice and brown, smooth. Robin’s lips curled in such a way that said  _ I told you so _ . There was something else in that grin. 

“You know, Stahl...It’s always been a dream of mine to have a cute healer come to my rescue. A cute man of the cloth to, uh, reward for his heroic deeds.”

An undignified noise spluttered out from his throat.


End file.
